Christ Cries MINE!

Oh, no single piece of our mental world is to be hermetically sealed off from the rest, and there is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: ‘Mine!’

Abraham Kuyper

He looks at me.

At my body, which tells of comfort sought

and briefly found in chocolate

and the richest of foods

and says, “Actually,

MINE.”

* * *

And he reads my blog,

which has brought me more pleasure

and blessing than any work I have ever done

and he smiles,

and asks,

MINE?

And I say, “Oh yes, of course; it’s yours. Would I embark on something so time-intensive, so out of my control, with so large a possibility of failure without you? Would I feel happy or confident if it were not yours?

And he smiles and says, “Don’t forget it.”

* * *

And he looks at my dream of finishing the big, big book on which I worked, off and on, for 15 years before I dropped it

And he says,

MINE.

And I say,

“Yes, of course. But will you let me finish it?”

And he replies,

MINE.

And I say, “Okay, Lord,

We’ll wait and see.

MINE, you say?

Well, then, it’s safe.”

* * *

And he looks at my children, and sees,

My love, dreams, fear, and vicarious ambition all mixed up,

And he says,

MINE.

And I sigh with relief,

“Okay, then, you’ll manage them better than I can.

Okay then, have them, but look after them well.”

And he replies,

MINE.

* * *

And he looks at my marriage,

and says,

MINE.

And I say,

“Well, of course. How else could I do it?”

And he looks a little deeper,

Getting a bit more intimate,

and says, MINE.

And I say, “That’s a bit personal, you know.

But, okay.”

* * *

And so he goes, through my life,

Friendships.

MINE.

“Of course, Lord, would I want to have a friendship you hadn’t given me?

I would not.”

* * *

Travel.

MINE.

I sigh. I love travel.

Yes, I say, “Yours.”

* * *

Money.

MINE.

“What, Lord, all of it?

MINE.

“What? No scope for frivolity? For self-indulgence?

MINE.

“That’s going to be a hard one, Lord, but we’ll begin to work it out.”

* * *

And he looks at my day:

How time slips away in trivial

browsing of blogs,

newspapers, facebook, twitter

and the sadness I feel as it does.

And he says,

“Your time, Anita;

Actually, it’s MINE.”

“Of course, have my time,” I say. “Please. I don’t manage my time that well anyway. Please manage it.”